


The Newly Discovered Casebook of Sherlock Holmes 7-The Empty Audience

by HarmlessMrsPorter, Iwantthatcoat



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, The Newly Discovered Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
Genre: Bad Jokes, Brexit reference, Comedy, M/M, Oral Sex, Radio Play, musical numbers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 12:05:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16681315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarmlessMrsPorter/pseuds/HarmlessMrsPorter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iwantthatcoat/pseuds/Iwantthatcoat
Summary: Yet another episode of The Newly Discovered Casebook of Sherlock Holmes has been, er, newly discovered. In which Holmes returns from the dead, only to find a distraught Watson writing his way through his grief, and giving away Holmes’s stuff. This won’t do. Won’t do what? Won’t do windows. Or “The Hustle”. Or the right thing. But I hope it will make you laugh.





	The Newly Discovered Casebook of Sherlock Holmes 7-The Empty Audience

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a_different_equation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_different_equation/gifts).



> Porn Buddy- Someone who’s prearranged job it is to rid your house of porn when you die (not a buddy to watch porn with).  
> Use of “stroke of genius” is from Fellshish’s Tumblr post and the vuvuzelas and Wilhelm Scream are from Vulgarweed.  
> Also: there is no HarmlessMrsPorter. This was a Holmestice pseudonym. I will be publishing my non-fandon story here once it finally goes into print at Circlet.

ANNOUNCER: In August of 1998, deep in the bowels of the British Museum, work began on building an extension to the erotic literature and artifacts section. While a curator was clearing some shelves he found a locked, leather portmanteau wedged between a collection of early Byzantine pornographic bathroom tiles and a first edition of _Janet and John Go Bra-Swapping_. The portmanteau turned out to have once belonged to a Doctor John H. Watson. And hidden under his surgical instruments were several volumes of hitherto unpublished memoirs recounting his adventures with none other than Sherlock Holmes. The BBC proudly presents--

LESTRADE: --and if you come down to-morrow, there’s not a man, from the oldest inspector to the youngest constable, who _would_ be glad to shake you by the hand--

ANNOUNCER: --the Newly-Discovered Casebook of Sherlock Holmes!

[Cheery violin music plays]

WATSON: The journal of Doctor John H. Watson: general medical practitioner, humble servant of Her Majesty’s armed forces, co-inventor of the Vigor Horse-Action Home Saddle, and fan dancer extraordinaire. I am also somewhat well-known for my work in documenting the remarkable talents of my friend, the world’s only consulting detective, England’s proud son, that brilliant deductive genius and foremost toffee-nosed ponce: Mr Sherlock Holmes.

[The cheery violin music takes a sad turn and fades out as Watson begins to speak]

WATSON: Dear reader of this journal, it is my unfortunate task to convey to you within these pages the sad conclusion of my account of the adventures of my dearest friend. I am duty-bound to relate the completely unexpected and not-at-all-foreshadowed meeting of Holmes with his nemesis, Professor Moriarty.

Had I not received an urgent note from Tom Rairy calling me back to the hotel, I might have interfered, but I suppose fate had other plans: for a man so formidable could not fare long in this wicked world. [knocking]

WATSON: [Narrating] I had briefly set down my pen, as I heard a knock upon my door.

HOLMES: [Voice disguised as Old French Man] Wats--uh, Doctor Watson, you have a telegram.

WATSON: Not now, hobbled old man with a thick black beard, an even thicker French accent, and an overly-large coat with a tag that says ‘M.H., if found please return to Diogenes Club’. Can you not see I am engaged in setting down the account of the death of my dearest friend?

HOLMES: I can see, but, perhaps, I-do-not _observe_.

WATSON: Well then go away, go away now and go away fast.

HOLMES: As you weesh.

WATSON: Can we just start that narration again, please?

[Sad violin music starts up again]

WATSON: Dear reader of this journal, it is my unfortunate task to convey to you within these pages the sad conclusion of my account of the adventures of my dearest friend. I am duty-bound to relate the completely unexpected and not-at-all-foreshadowed meeting of Holmes with his nemesis, Professor Moriarty.

Had I not received an urgent note from Tom Rairy calling me back to the hotel, I might have interfered--

HOLMES: I’ll just leave dees here den, shall I?

WATSON: My dearest friend would frequently send telegrams. Now those damnable slips of paper only serve to remind me of him and of the great loss which I must bear. I shall never read another telegram again!

HOLMES: Never?

WATSON: Never!

HOLMES: But, telegrams can carree important-news. You really should loook at eet. Right now. So-I-can _watch_ you as you _read_ eet.

WATSON: Never!

HOLMES: [Accent drops] Okay, okay. Never. I get it. I’ll just, see myself out.

WATSON: Music? [sad violin starts, quickly plays in double-time, then stops] Had I not received an urgent note from Tom Rairy calling me back to the hotel, I might have interfered, but I suppose fate had other plans: for a man so formidable could not fare long in this wicked world.  
[Watson sighs]  
Well, I suppose it's time to haul some of this junk off to the Sisters of Mercy Workhouse for the Betterment of Street Urchins and Orphans. Well, not the microscope that says ‘Property of Oxbridge: Do Not Remove’, I’ll pretend I never saw that, but I’m sure those poor waifs could use...a couple of pounds of coarse tobacco, a bag of fingernails, and a bit of--no. No, I don’t think they will be needing Holmes’s rough shag down at the orphanage. But these disguises might be enjoyable. And quite a few different hats! And, what’s this locked chest beneath the bed? I’ve never seen that before! I wonder if I should--Who the deuce are you?

HOLMES: [This time as Old Cockney Woman] ‘Ello! Mrs ‘Udson let me up. I’m a big fan of Mr ‘Olmes, and I just ‘eard ‘e ‘ad pulled th’ string on th’ ol’ shower bath, and I was jus’ wonderin’ if--

WATSON: How did you know he--

HOLMES: ‘Ad is ‘and in ‘is checks? Stuck ‘is spoon in th’ wall? Climbed th’ greasy pole? Snuffed ‘is glim? Shot ‘is star? Went trumpet cleaning? 

WATSON: But there’s been--Went trumpet cleaning? Are we talking about the same thing? 

HOLMES: Don’t be alarmed now, Dr Watson. I’m sayin’ ‘e’s dead and gone.

WATSON: But there’s been no announcement yet! 

HOLMES: Yes there was. Obituary. In th’ paper.

WATSON: Which paper?

HOLMES: The..… London….. Observer.

WATSON: I read that just this morning, and there was no mention. I have a copy right here, in fact.

HOLMES: It was the very-very-late edition.

WATSON: Oh. I beg your pardon. You were saying?

HOLMES: Well, me and my friend was sayin’ with ‘Olmes being dead and all ‘ow very much we wish ‘is rooms was [Voice slips back slightly] preserved in an untouched state [recovers vocal slip] as a sorta tribute t’ ‘is life. Like a museum. With all ‘is important files and such in glass cases so [Voice slips] regular people couldn’t get their grubby little hands all over them. [Fake accent returns] And I really think it’d be a nice gesture to send th’ important things t’ ‘is brother. Like ‘is violin, and some nice _briars_ , maybe, and some cash. And I can get rid of summa th’ things y’ wouldn't want ‘anging ‘round ina museum, t’ preserve ‘is legacy, like, that case up there on th’ mantelpiece. Oh, and I bet that old trunk don’t have nothin’ important in it; I c’n just take that, too.

HOLMES: [Aside in regular voice] Honestly, Mycroft! You are the world’s worst Porn Buddy!

WATSON: That, sounds like a brilliant idea! Thank you!

HOLMES: ‘Appy t’ ‘elp! I’ll just take this! And this. And maybe _this._

WATSON: Careful, that's heavy! Oh, looks like you've got it then. Thank you again.

[Door slams]

WATSON: Well then, perhaps I will see if there are any interesting cases about tonight. There was that Adair murder in the paper. Maybe I’ll just--

[Rude noise signifying the speaking-tube doorbell]

WATSON: Oh, a visitor! 

HOLMES: [This time as Young Girl, voice is garbled from the machine] Girl Scout cookies!

WATSON: Girl Scouts?

HOLMES: [Abruptly switching to more masculine voice. Still garbled. Each subsequent airtube message remains so] Boy Scout cookies!

WATSON: Boy Scouts won't exist until 1910. 

HOLMES: Oh. Fuller Brush Man?

WATSON: 1906.

HOLMES: Jehov--Er, Watchtower Society!

WATSON: Whatever do you want, man?

[Door creaks open] 

Holmes?

[Thud of Watson hitting the floor]

HOLMES: Surprise? Best call 999. Oh, wait! Brandy!

[Glug of pouring brandy]

WATSON: [Coughs. Gasps] Holmes! It _is_ you!

HOLMES: My dear Watson, I owe you a thousand apologies. And a new bottle of Courvoisier.

WATSON: I can’t believe it! How could you do such a thing!

HOLMES: I had no serious difficulty in getting out of that chasm, for the very simple reason that I never was in it.

WATSON: No. I mean--

HOLMES: Telling you I was alive was a great risk. Too great. One false move and my enemies would have--

WATSON: No, I mean you wasted nearly all the Courvoisier when I have a full bottle of MacHamish’s Tartan Reserve sitting right there on the tantalus. 

HOLMES: So I should have passed the Courvoisier.

WATSON: You should have passed on that joke as well.

HOLMES: Most wouldn’t have even known there was a reference being made if you hadn’t commented upon it.

[Speaking-tube doorbell sounds]

Why, I do believe it’s Lestrade.

LESTRADE: Well, well, well.

HOLMES: You don’t seem all that surprised to see me, Inspector.

LESTRADE: I’m not. Caught one of your street vermin lookin’ suspicious and ‘e said I ‘ad to let ‘im go soes ‘e could run a _special errand_ for a Mister Sherlock ‘Olmes.

HOLMES: That would be Wiggins.

LESTRADE: Yes indeed, that would be Wiggins. And ‘e ‘ad quite a suspiciously large sum of money on ‘im, too. Said you gave it to ‘im so ‘e could get you a very nice bust.

HOLMES: Now don’t be alarmed, Watson; it’s for Mrs Hudson.

MRS HUDSON: I will go to it on my knees, sir!

WATSON: Wherever did she come from?

MRS HUDSON: Just ‘ere to pad the joke a bit, sir.

WATSON: Oh, I see. Well. Carry on.

MRS HUDSON: No, that was it. ‘Ardly worth the trip upstairs, if you ask me.

HOLMES: And why are you here, Lestrade?

LESTRADE: For exposition. And as a tie-in to a brief musical interlude. Well, I’ll just leave the rest to you, since I’ve got a new recruit to train.

HOLMES: Ah, do you now? Reminds me a bit of a song:

LESTRADE: Go on, then.

HOLMES: [Sings with piano accompaniment]  
I'm the new policeman, I'm the dandy boy in blue  
I want to get my name up, upon my soul I do  
I'm the new policeman, tho' I'm not so fine and large  
Is there anyone here who cannot fight? If so I've got a charge.  
I want a charge--a charge I'll have, I feel that I'm a bluffed 'un  
I locked a dog up yesterday, but found it was a stuffed 'un  
I must run someone in tonight, I've got that sort of feeling  
My pocket I could pick and run myself in for stealing.

LESTRADE: And now that you’re ‘ere I assume you are goin’ to go solve the Adair Murder, so I’ll just leave it to you and pop off to see that wonderful vocalist, Terri Samée, at Covent Garden. I’ve got a date with a Miss Berger. I’ll ‘ave just enough time to pick ‘er up at Berger ‘All. Ta!  
[Door shuts]

HOLMES: Watson, while I was escaping my death at the base of Reichenbach Falls a large boulder flew past my head, narrowly missing me. I believe the man who threw it shall attempt to finish the job tonight. 

WATSON: You mean throw another boulder at you?

HOLMES: Dearest Watson, I so missed the dimness of your mind; it makes mine shine all the brighter by comparison. No, I think he will use a rather smaller projectile. A metal one, if I read him right.

WATSON: Well that’s dreadful, throwing coins at you like you’re playing for Arsenal!And must I remind you I am no idiot, Holmes. I matriculated at the University of London! [Whining] I won a maths debate! 

HOLMES: There will be plenty of time for self-abuse later, Watson! Right now we are about to embark on a dangerous outing!

WATSON: An outing is hardly necessary, Holmes. We can keep it on the down low. But if you know who this attempted assassin is, why not simply have him arrested?

HOLMES: Because I have a more complicated plan I wish to enact.

WATSON: Why does that not surprise me?

HOLMES: We need to travel to a spot with a unique vantage point and do some window peeping. We should be back before supper. I have many things to catch up on. And I must not forget to contact the shipper to renew my lapsed subscription to the Mineral of the Month Club, so as to increase my odds of cummingtonite.

WATSON: You need only ask it. You must have had many exciting adventures during your time away.

HOLMES: Yes, indeed. I managed to avoid haboobs, but there was one particular kumbang I was in that makes for a splendid tale. There will be time for that while we secrete in the darkness as we wait for Colonel Moran to make his move.

WATSON: [Narrating] Holmes then took me by my hand and guided me through a maze of streets and alleyways, culminating in our entering through the back door of a building which had fallen into disrepair. Though I did not know it at the time, it lay directly across from our old lodgings at Baker Street.

HOLMES: Well, this rusty knob could certainly do with a good polishing. There! I have it! Now, look at that window. What do you make of that?

WATSON: Well, if I cut a piece off and added some paints, I suppose I could fashion a suncatcher, or even a lovely brooch. Oh. You mean--Of course. Thick layer of dust and period-typical London grime forming the distinctive oily, yellow residue. Remnants of sulphur from the unregulated factories of the Late Industrial Revolution. The glass itself indicates a high degree of skill from the glasier, as it is quite thick and fits snuggly into the steel frame, creating a rather energy-efficient seal with an environmentally-conscious sensibility rare for this time period.

HOLMES: Not _this_ window, Watson! The one across the street! Now look there while I think of a good quote to prove my knowledge of literature is far from nil and inject romantic allusions into this story. Oh, yes, here’s the very thing. I trust that age doth not wither nor custom stale my infinite variety. So, do I look hot?

WATSON: Why that’s, that’s you, Holmes! I mean, it’s a perfect likeness. I can be dim at times, but I am certainly not so dim as to think you capable of being in two places at once.

HOLMES: Apologies, Watson, to have provoked such a puzzled ejaculation and to cause you to have to justify your competency to me once more. I had to bring forth the harsher aspect of my nature during my travels. I fear it may take me some time to rein it back in. You are a brilliant man, a fascinating companion, and, I missed you terribly.

WATSON: You missed me? 

HOLMES: Indeed. 

WATSON: I am sure there were times when you would have been grateful for someone to watch your back.

HOLMES: At times, yes. But, that is hardly what I meant by having missed you.

WATSON: And I have always thought myself a habit of yours, in much the same way as your violin, your tobacco, your scrapbooking--I mean your criminal index...

[Several beats of silence]

HOLMES: I--  
[A creak]

WATSON: [Narrating] Holmes pulled me back deeper into the shadows and placed his hand upon my mouth to ensure my silence without requesting it aloud. He cocked his head toward the entryway, where a tall and swarthy man had just entered and was silently making his way toward the window. Holmes gestured for me to wait until the stranger was crouching low and assembling an unusual weapon, his concentration entirely on the silhouette of my friend, before speaking in hushed tones.

HOLMES: Let him shoot. It is essential to ensure his capture. Then we shall take him down.

WATSON: As you weesh.

[stifled laughter]

HOLMES: Annnd…  
[Window shatters in the distance]  
What bullet through yonder window breaks! Now, Watson!

[Scuffling, a cacophony of noises, many truly anachronistic, including bells and whistles, vuvuzelas, sirens, whooping and slippery-floor-style scrambling noises as in children’s cartoons, all ending in a Wilhelm scream. Then silence.] 

HOLMES: Got you! And now we wait for Lestrade to ensure your arrest. That bullet, safely lodged in my doppelganger’s head, should match the one used to murder Ronald Adair. They are unique, after all.

[Noisy entrance of police]

LESTRADE: And this must be the murderer! 

HOLMES: How was your date? 

LESTRADE: Won't be going on another. And I ‘ave to say I was ‘appy to ‘ave gotten out of there before Meg and Mark L discussed the joys of temperance.

HOLMES: I’m sure the musical portion of the evening was much more to your liking. Did Terri Samée sing her famous “Why Won't You Play At Chequers with Me”?

MORAN: If I am to be arrested, Inspector, please do so before I am subjected to a musical interlude from this man. I’ve seen a few of these radio shows. I know what’s coming.

HOLMES: You wound me, sir. But not nearly as much as you have wounded my wax bust.

MORAN: Take me away!

LESTRADE: ‘Appy to do so. You’re under arrest for the murder of Ronald Adair, socialite and notoriously poor card player, and the attempted murder of Sherlock ‘Olmes, England’s foremost toffee-nosed ponce. Let’s go, men!

[Noises as they leave]

HOLMES: I feel like a song.

WATSON: A song?

HOLMES: No, a snog. I’m sorry. A typing error in the script.

WATSON: Pardon?

HOLMES: Watson, what I was about to say, before I realised Moran had shown us that he thought our hiding spot the perfect one as well, was that I missed you in many ways. There is no man I’d rather have around during my crisis. I know you have my back, Watson, but I found myself wanting you to have my backside as well. You might just have yourself a stroke of genius. And, I am now slowly coming to the realisation that dilated pupils are a poor indicator of arousal in dim light and taking someone’s pulse whilst running through the streets and alleyways of London perhaps has accuracy issues as well. I may well have made quite the blunder.

WATSON: No, Holmes, indeed you have not.

WATSON: [Narrating] And here, dear reader, is where I shall draw a veil over the scene, before we lose our Radio 2 access.

HOLMES: But Watson, no one can see anything.

WATSON: Well, you’ve a good point. 

HOLMES: And there’s nothing wrong with a snog, in any case. 

WATSON: Definitely not. 

HOLMES: Furthermore, if we send home the announcer, no one can be certain what is actually occurring. Holland? 

ANNOUNCER: Yes?

HOLMES: Go home!

ANNOUNCER: Yes, Mr Holmes, sir!

HOLMES: Now where were we?

[Kissing, a moan, zipper being undone]

WATSON: That reminds me. We should also send the foley home.

HOLMES: That I would, if it weren’t for the fact that you are a bit of an exhibitionist.

WATSON: HOLMES!

HOLMES: Well, it happens to be true.

WATSON: Well, fine, yes, but you didn’t have to tell _them_ that.

HOLMES: Tell whom?

WATSON: The people listening to this!

HOLMES: My dear Watson, no one is listening to this.

WATSON: I’m sorry, Holmes, you might find this disturbing, but, we are in a radio play. And because of that fact, there are people listening to our words and...other things, and--

HOLMES: Oh no, Watson, I am afraid you are quite mistaken. What we are in is a fanfiction story designed to be read like a radio play. That is a very different beast. No one is reading this aloud. Some fanfictions, perhaps, but not this one, I assure you. So. For the sake of convenience, we might as well switch formats.

WATSON: What do you mean?

HOLMES: The author is clearly trying to write outside of the logical format. We could make it easier for them and just switch into a standard short story.

WATSON: So there is a writer behind this?

HOLMES: Most definitely.

WATSON: Then I say no.

HOLMES: No?

WATSON: No. A shift like that would ruin the integrity of the piece. They wrote their way into this mess, they can write themselves out of it. And where’s the challenge, man? Who would take on “The Newly Discovered Adventures of Sherlock Holmes” on BBC Radio with an E rating if they didn’t want a challenge. I say, make them work for it.

HOLMES: You are surprisingly vindictive. I like it. I think I might just--

WATSON: Mmmm. [Mumbling] Yes, agreed. 

HOLMES: So, given the situation they find themselves in, I am certain they will come to the only logical conclusion, which is that I tell you exactly what I intend to do to you. Such as remove your waistcoat, like so.

WATSON: And I yours.

HOLMES: This is an overabundance of clothing. Braces, off! And trousers. I do love to watch them fall in a pile at your feet. No, don’t step out of them. I prefer the way they wrap themselves around your limbs, restricting movement. Now if you would be so good as to remove your cufflinks and I shall begin at this lower shirt button and work my way to the top. That is, if I don’t find myself...distracted...here.

WATSON: Oh, Holmes. How am I to manage to undo anything at all with your mouth upon my drawers. This is…an…oh, this is impossible! Damn these complicated fasteners, can’t you just lift my shirt up to gain access to…yes! Exactly like that. But don’t let a desire to fiddle about with my nipples distract you from the more pressing task of...of...oh! Nevermind, Holmes, do continue in whatever manner you see fit...I… I…

HOLMES: If you do not wish me to stop the activity in which I am currently engaged, then the narration falls to you, old boy. Now, back to where I left off.

WATSON: Oh god! How can you manage to remove that with just your mouth, you...I know, I know, transferable skills from that time we went to the Houdini performance, but good lord how are you so adept at knowing precisely which areas of my [Groans]. I can manage this. I can…I think I’ll just grab your shoulders and brace myself a bit, while you…Oh, that's all right then? To push into...yes. Good. More than good. That’s quite extraordinary, the way you are able to accommodate my...Holmes! I certainly had not anticipated your removing your hands from beneath my shirt to place them in such a location as that! No, no I’m not complaining! Not in the least! It was merely an unexpected act, to place your...your...do you know how I love your hands, Holmes? Have I told you near enough how those long fingers are entrancing? How I watch them dance upon the strings of a violin or hold the smallest trace of evidence to the light and you are...are sublime. [Breath] I want to touch you. Please, let me find some way to…That I might have longer arms so that I could, by some magical wish fulfilled, wrap my own hand around your cock and transfer even the smallest percentage of this mounting pleasure to you, my love. Can you not do so on my behalf? Oh, yes. Thank you for that. You are so...so occupied in every possible manner and I...cannot...escape...from this moment of...crisis, I...Holmes! Ahh! I...Holmes!

HOLMES: Most satisfactory.

WATSON: How might I--

HOLMES: Let us continue these activities at home. Our home.

WATSON: Of course. Shall I call a hansom cab?

HOLMES: Yes, but don’t call a handsome cabbie. You’re mine now and I’m frightfully possessive, you know. In any case, it would be far more efficient to arrive by musical interlude. Far more romantic. And it avoids the downtown traffic entirely.

WATSON: Didn’t we send the violinist away, along with the rest of the radio performers and staff? How will we travel by interlude with no musicians?

HOLMES: Watson, you wound me. Am I not a musician of merit?

WATSON: You have no violin.

HOLMES: Ah, now where would the world be without hooters?

WATSON: Pardon?

HOLMES: I always carry one with me. And usually an otamatone as well. [Plays the introduction to “And We Danced”, https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=zB1Q-PfUvN0 which distorts in the middle, and clears again at the end as they are presumably transported to Baker Street) And here we are!

WATSON: Excellent! And already in bed. We should travel by interlude more often. Beats traveling by wartime flashback.

HOLMES: Or drug-induced haze. 

WATSON: [Sighs] Wow. We are some fucked up people.

HOLMES: We have each other. And fucked is a versatile word. Let us get back to exploring its other meanings. 

WATSON: Reciprocation is both the gentlemanly thing to do and something I’d be pretty into. 

HOLMES: Well, we have no foley, but we still have readers. At least I hope we do, and they haven’t backbuttoned out. 

WATSON: You seem to know quite a bit about this type of writing, Holmes. Er, [Hesitates] Sherlock. 

HOLMES: Holmes is fine, John.

WATSON: No, no I can do this. It’s an important step in our relationship.

HOLMES: No, really, it’s fine if you--

WATSON: No. No. I can...come closer, Sher- [Chuckles]

HOLMES: Look, I can just go back to calling you Watson and we can be done with this ridiculous attempt at--

WATSON: Sherrrrrlock. Sherllllllock. Sher. Lock.

HOLMES: Are you quite finished, Watson?

WATSON: Yes, Sherlock, I [Breaks into laughter] Were you named after someone, or did your parents just make things up?

HOLMES: It happens to be a surname from within the family, yes. As is Mycroft. My mother was quite keen on preserving the names of her ancestors, as she was the only one of her siblings to bear children, and, you find me amusing, do you?

WATSON: No, Sherlock Holmes. It is the change which I find amusing. I find you as captivating, as spellbinding as ever. I’ll just have to get used to the sound of you on my tongue. I believe I should practice, don’t you agree? [Bedsprings creak]

HOLMES: Yes, I rather like to hear [Moans] how I sound on your tongue as well. [Breath] John Watson.


End file.
